Songs of Innocence and Experience
by lunarays
Summary: A collection of short stories depicting the childhood of Quatre Winner before Operation Meteor. Updated Chapter: Quatre Winner grew up and started down the path of joining the war.
1. The Lamb

**The Lamb **

_Little Lamb, who made thee?  
Dost thou know who made thee?  
Gave thee life & bid thee feed  
By the stream & o'er the mead;_

-The Lamb from "Songs of Innocence" by William Blake

* * *

He was a spoiled brat when he was small, albeit a lonely one. Being home educated (1) - which was normal considering his family background - he had not playmates of similar age. All of his twenty-nine sisters were created at one go (2), ten years before his birth, and from his young eyes they were but a blur of girls exchanging important secrets in a foreign language. At five, even Quatre's unusual intelligence could not understand that girls of fifteen generally talked about pimples and prom Kings with the utmost seriousness. On some rare occasions when his sisters were bored, they would actually let him into one of their rooms and put him in pretty dresses which they have outgrown. He laughed with his sisters, but had he not suspected that they were laughing at him? Nonetheless, when the games were over, he would find himself locked out of their rooms, and no matter how he scratched and clawed at their doors all he could do was to listen to the giggles inside - giggles of joy which he was not allowed to share - thus, when people walk pass the corridors they would sometimes find a little blonde boy of five in a fancy dress - sitting by and leaning on a locked door - looking quite vulnerable and pitiful with tears in his eyes. 

Being the only child among a mansion of adults, his world was a strange and lonely one. The people around him were always busy, telling him to get out of the way - "Why don't you go play with your toys?" or "Go and do the next exercise in your mathematics workbook." After shooing him away, they continued about their gossips and businesses that were all fascinating but incomprehensible to a child. Quatre knew the sums, and were bored of the toys, so he had time to think about why he was the only one left out in the adult's part of the world - to be trapped in another dimension. He thought, he lacked something that all other people had, and maybe, it was him, it was Quatre Winner only, that was too inadequate for the world to accept?

Quatre lacked something indeed - simple experience - but nobody ever sat down to tell him that. He tried of course to bang on that invisible wall separating him and the world with his tiny fists, but all he managed were some random temper tantrums and flaccid threats of "I'll tell my father". The servants avoided him like the plague, whispering among themselves how it was all unavoidable - test-tube babies were devil spawns (3) - all the while unaware of their young charge's prouting empathy - and that their distaste and dislike were all crystal clear to that unhappy child.

His father was the only one who would actually talk to him and really listen to what he had to say. Yet their conversations were mostly serious, involving general enquiries about his mathematics standard or logical skills. His father had harsh expectations for him, but Quatre did not know the difference between harsh standards and leniency - there was nothing for him to compare - and without comparison every thing in one's life was "normal" - a cannibal would have thought that eating human flesh was a daily routine. Since his father was the only one who showed anything that remotely resembled love to him, he lived to please his father - since boyhood he had pushed himself to achieve the extraordinary - and thus had never known the carefree idleness of youth.

It was all contradicting. In some ways Quatre was a precocious child full of knowledge, yet he didn't even know how to ask for something properly and continue to throw temper tantrums even when he was eight. As he grew older his father deemed it more and more unnecessary to keep a constant watch over him, so Winner Senior spent more and more time in his family corporate, avoiding his child as much as he could (4). Quatre threw more and more tantrums in response, obviously begging for attention. One day, finally frustrated by the constant complaints from the servants, Quatre's father bought Quatre a chess set very much like a parent would a pacifier to a baby just to shut him up.

"When you think you are good enough to beat me in chess, come and find me. I'll spend a day at the amusement park with you if you win." - those were the exact words his father said.

The grateful servants sang their praises, for never again did Quatre throw a tantrum. The child would spend days and days in the house library - head buried in chess-strategy books - desperately wanting to improve. At the age of eight his tuitions already involved mathematical inductions and factorizations, and he was taught the basics of science and economics. Even if he was overwrought from the difficult lessons he could still be seen playing himself - his tiny hands often holding a white pawn - in between his lessons. A promise of time spent with his father gave him great fortitude to bear any labours. Such was the power of trust in an innocent child, still so pure, so untouched by simple experience in the world.

In the AC 180's, people generally had a mixed feeling of fear and despise for those born out of test-tubes - fear of their superiority from modified genes, and despise out of their unnatural being. Alan Rotmensen was one of these people. He also happened to be a lanky, long-limbed redhead barely out of his teens, whom was more than once on the receiving end of Quatre's terrible tantrums. He laughed outright at the blonde boy's reliance on chess theories, and offered himself as a real opponent in a chess practice and invited the other servants to watch. Quatre gladly took the offer, but found out quickly that Alan had more on his agenda than simply helping him.

"Check."

Quatre felt the heat rising in his cheeks - of shame, of defeat - for he realized that Alan would be able to declare a checkmate in five more moves. As he waited for the unpreventable attack from the redhead's Black Castle, he was completely surprised to find the Black Queen moved instead, to capture his Knight. Did the lanky teen missed the chance for checkmate out of sheer carelessness? No, of course not. He was playing cat and mouse with Quatre, slowly, cruelly stripping the boy of all his remaining pieces.

"Check. Again."

Quatre had never felt such helplessness before - watching his pieces die, yet unable to do anything except to move his King to safety - it was, it was...  
Humiliation.  
He understood that word now, as tears welled up in his eyes and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying. He felt he was drowning - he knew he would die -but that didn't make him give up and stop his useless struggling. He knew that defeat was inevitable, and it took all of his strength to not break down into tears right there and then as he felt the supreme glee radiating from one Alan Rotmensen and those eyes bearing down on him from the spectators present in every direction.

"Checkmate! Now that would teach you unnatural freak some manners, would it not? Looks like your carefully hand picked quality genes are no match for those born naturally, brat! Where's your arrogance now, where's your temper? Huh? HUH? You..."

He was quickly hushed by the middle-aged woman responsible for cleaning Quatre's room. The crowd of servants dispersed immediately, lest that spoiled brat decided to throw himself into another fit and start to claw at anything in sight.

But the boy sat there stunned, and did not move for a long time. Half and hour later he began to quietly pack away the chess set, and when he was done, he demanded to talk to his father. Anderson, the butler, obediently helped him to call his father's private line.

"What do you want this time? I'm very busy now."

"...Don't worry. Since you're too busy with your work, I'm only asking for a chess teacher."

"...Pass the phone to Mr. Anderson."

Later that night, Anderson told him that his teacher would arrive the next day.

tbc... Quatre gets his revenge in the next chapter!

* * *

Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience are collections of poems by William Blake. The poems in Experience contrast that of those in Innocence, taking two points of view on a common theme. I highly recommend them, for the contrast is ingenious.

1 - If I'm not wrong, it is stated in the article "View Wing Paradise" from the magazine "Animation V" 1997 June vol. that Quatre is home educated. I can sent you a link if you ask me, but it is in Japanese.

2 - From the Endless Waltz novel, Quatre's father created all his daughters "at one go" in an act of defiance to challenge the family tradition of not making genetically modified babies. All 29 of his daughters are genetically modified so that they can give birth naturally to children in countering the adverse conditions in space. (Remember that ten years later, Quatre's mother dies in childbirth due to she being not genetically modified to adapt to the conditions in outer space, so Quatre's father do feel very strongly on this subject.)

3 -When the technology for genetically modifying baby girls is developed and the complications in childbirth are solved, the first batch of natural borns begin to appear in space colonies, and they are proud of their natural-born status. Thus they began to despise those born out of test-tubes, even though their mothers are test-tube babies too. From Endless Waltz novel book 2, again.

4 - Quatre's father does seem cold to his son, doesn't him? This will hopefully be explained in future chapters.


	2. The Tyger

**The Tyger**

_When the stars threw down their spears  
And water'd heaven with their tears,  
Did he smile his work to see?  
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_

-The Tyger from "Songs of Experience" by William Blake

* * *

It was long ago and he was small then, and Quatre couldn't remember her name any more. Yet he could clearly recall the pair of pearl earrings that she always wore, her straight hair, straight nose, and pale hands with neatly trimmed nails. He was surprised to find that his new chess teacher was a young lady, and couldn't help but doubt her abilities - weren't all chess master male and old? 

When she saw his displeasure on his pout, she took his hand and told him that she was older and wiser than she looked, and if he had doubts, he could play a game with her right there and then to test her abilities in chess. She said - chess masters, or strategists in general, should never judge anything by its appearance, and should instead, gather as much first hand information as possible before making a logical conclusion. Quatre was awed by that piece of advice. Suddenly impressed and inspired by this new lady, he eagerly led her up to his room by her hand, wanting to see what more she had to offer.

She had to admit, she had never expected a spoiled rich kid to play so well. She thought that chess was just another one of those caprices of spoilt children to this kid, but his moves showed that he knew the basic theories of the game. He played very aggressively too, and did not hesitate to perform sacrificial exchanges - that was pretty unusual for a kid. How one played could actually tell a lot about the person, and this blonde had an overwhelming desire to win - he played with an urgency that seemed to stem from some important purpose.

She won quite easily, by she liked that the fact that he put everything he had into the game - he wasn't just fooling around - he respected chess. Genuinely wanting to teach this boy, she lectured him:

"Do you know why you lost? Quatre, you play too much by the book. Chess is about intuition sometimes. Play with an objective in your head, not just vague ideas like "I want to win". Be specific. Be very specific. Say, I want to capture the knight on F8 without performing an exchange sacrifice. I want to gain control of G1 so that there's no chance for the opponent's pawn to perform a promotion. Then look at the board. Which are the pieces you can deploy? Which are the pieces which are not under your direct control but you can manipulate into your own advantage? Gamble about, the more you play, the more refined your intuition will become."

Intuition? When Quatre heard the word all he could think of was his empathetic abilities. He did not know the term "empathy" then, but he realized that sometimes he could guess another person's actions quite accurately from the foreign emotions he felt - could he use that to his advantage in chess? If he could foresee personal styles, he could abandon the theories and develop moves solely designed for specific opponents.

In the three following months Quatre spent all his free time practicing and trying out his new plan. He never realized that he was actually refining his in-born empathy and honing his techniques in using it. He could read the current emotions of a specific person if he tried hard enough, and even glimpse at their general intentions.

When he was playing against his teacher one day, he found out, quite by accident, that he could actually do more. He was quite exhausted during the game, for he just had had a three hour lesson on aerodynamics of industrial Mobile Suits. In his rhetorical rant he kept telling himself that he was tired, and he wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep, oh he was so sleepy...and...and...quite strangely, his teacher yawned and suddenly looked tired even though she was pretty energetic before the game.

After more experiments, the conclusion became certain - he could project his strongly felt emotions upon others. He grinned at this piece of knowledge, strangely pleased by its wicked possibilities.

Half a year after his first defeat, Quatre challenged Alan Rotmensen to another game of chess. Alan wanted to refuse at first, but a look at the big, blue and innocent eyes coupled with an excited smile directed at him, the man's desire to wipe that smile off that disgusting face rekindled - so he accepted the challenge, and called all his colleagues to witness a second victory by the Great Chess Player Alan Rotmensen, yours truly.

Quatre played white. He gleefully fed off the arrogance and carelessness emanating from his opponent and projected more of those feelings back to the redhead. _It is working. _Quatre thought as he could almost see the word "**UNDERESTIMATION"** flashing on Alan's forehead - fully in bold and capital letters too.

The Arabian began the game by moving his pawn in front of his king forward by two steps, and Rotmensen followed suit without much of a blink. As Quatre countered by moving his bishop he could see Rotmensen sneering at this unusual move in contempt._ Time for the fish to take the bait._ The blonde boy focused all his concentration into thinking for his opponent:

_I feel that the Two Knights Defense will surely work against this freak. The Two Knights Defense is such a reliable formation and should counter any odd moves this bloody kid is trying to make. I will wipe that arrogant smile off his face in no time, kick his ass, make him cry his bratty eyes out and pitifully scream for his father like that pansy wuss his is_...

Quatre cheered silently as the black knight jumped forward. _Now for the finishing blow._ The white queen moved to her intended place, waiting to strike. The other black knight jumped forward to make the symmetrical formation of the Two Knights Defense.

Holding his queen in mid-air in a deliberate dramatic pause, Quatre Winner smiled a devilish, lordly smile meant only for Alan Rotmensen to see, before clearly announcing in a sweet angelical voice - "Checkmate."

It was a Scholar's Mate - a four-move checkmate. As the audience picked their jaws from the floor from the sheer speed of the game and Alan sat that in stunned disbelief, Quatre projected all the glee he could for his opponent to feel, as he gracefully held up his hand for a polite "good game" to rub the salt firmly in.

_Play with an objective in your head. Be specific._ _Be very specific. _

He had one specific objective for this game, and that was to humiliate Alan Rotmensen. Yet in mist of the glee he felt in reaching his objective, he couldn't help but feel that he had somehow cheated, and somehow let his teacher down - those who respect chess don't cheat. So he vowed to never again do anything like this. It didn't feel comfortable anyway - it was like a self-induced personality split when you have to feel both for your opponent and yourself.

But a Tyger was born out of a Lamb. And one day he would join a war, and he would realize that cheaters win in wars, and losers die in wars.

Quatre would one day lose his father in a war - and he would not hesitate to cheat after that.

* * *

The next chapter will be a new story...probably in Quatre's father POV regarding the promised day at the amusement park. 

...poor Quatre.

If you are interested, you can go wiki out "scholar's mate" to see an animated gif of the game in action. ;) I have my reasons in believing Quatre's ability in projecting feelings...I hope to explore that when I write on the events of Quatre's actual episode zero (regarding his meeting with the Maganacs) in the future.


	3. The Sick Rose

**The Sick Rose**

_O rose, thou art sick!  
The invisible worm,  
That flies in the night,  
In the howling storm, _

Has found out thy bed  
Of crimson joy,  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy.

- From Songs of Experience by William Blake

* * *

For Q,  
_the love of my life _

If I had doubts on the existence of God in the past, then your death had wiped all remaining traces of faith I had in a higher, merciful being. If there be a God, then He was too cruel to take you away from me in the most ironic of ways. It hurt too much. It hurt when I had defied all my elders and went against the very core beliefs which my family had held on for centuries (1) - to give my daughters the gift of having the privilege to give birth to children safely - and had it smacked right back in my face. My father told me that to genetically modify babies would be the act of usurping God's power. I admit, it was defiance and passion that drove me to create twenty-nine genetically modified daughters at once - a bit to spite my father, but mostly to end that illogical Winner tradition that cursed all daughters bearing our name. But I still don't see why women in space should have to be cursed to not being able to have the child they want so badly.

And you wanted my son so badly, my Quaterina. When you died having my child, I couldn't help but wonder if God was punishing me for my arrogance. Was he angered at me for being the Prometheus(2) who stole natural childbirth for my daughters - so furious that he had to take you through childbirth, and to spite me with the greatest of irony?

I could not bear it.

The only way for me to survive your death was to deny God and be an atheist. I simply could not live with the notion that God took you because of my actions.

You once said that love is a source of infinite bravery - that was why you were willing to face the 55 percent maternal mortality rate combined with the 79 percent infant mortality rate of birth complications (3). Did you remember how I begged and begged for you to abort the child? It was insane - there was only a 9.5 percent chance for both you and our child to survive. I wanted to have a son to call our own too, but we could achieve that by much, much safer means! Did you believe me when I said that all that mattered was you, and you only? Have you ever for a moment, thought for me, and considered the amount of intolerable torture you were inflicting on me - a torture that continued to this day, to this very shuddering breath that I just exhaled for you?

I saw you everywhere in these ten years - on my desk, in our room, in the curled horizon of the colony, at the breakfast table and the late drive home - I felt your presence constantly - I could almost touch you, and yet I could not! The entire world was a cruel memorandum of the fact that I lost you!

And worse, and the worst of it all, was that I saw you in our Quatre.

Could you forgive me?

He was your child in every sense - he inherited your soft blonde locks, your clear turquoise eyes, your pale colouration with that unearthly shine, so untouched by this dusty weary world. Sometimes I wonder where my part in him was. If he had, say, just a tiny mix of my brown hair or my tanned skin-colour in him, I could have loved him with all I had - I would have been the best father in the universe. Yet he wasn't mine, he was yours, entirely, so every time I look at him I was reminded of you, and the fact that he stole all those perfect, perfect features from you!

Could you forgive me?

You sacrificed yourself in exchange for this one last gift to the world, yet I could not even look at his face without that painful constriction in my chest. I flung myself into endless work, trying my best to avoid our son, and to avoid my responsibilities as a father. It became worse. Who could I blame? With the lack of attention he parodied you in the most hideous of ways - pulling **your** hair while throwing temper tantrums, crying **your** eyes out in his selfish requests - he turned you into a brat, and I could never love him as much you wished me to.

Forgive me, my darling Quaterina! I said, forgive me!

I would say that love is a source of infinite weakness if you asked me now. Your love destroyed you, and my love destroyed your legacy. Love, and the lost of it made me into a freaking coward who didn't dare recognize his own son.

I took Quatre to an amusement park today - the first time in his ten years. We were truly sharing happiness together - not joy, not jubilee - but real, gut-wretching type of happiness. I could swear that I didn't know what have gotten into me that moment we got off the roller-coaster, and before I could stop myself I saw your eyes, and damn! what was wrong with me?

I knelt in front of him and looked right into **your** eyes, smiling, smiling as I said, "I love you so much, **Quaterina**!"

He trembled - and his smile just freezed over when he heard that. The very air itself turned humid and moist with bitterness - it was raining bitterness - from me, and from him. The atmosphere tasted sour, almost like vomit. And I abruptly shot up and turned to leave him standing there - refusing to face the hurt in **his** eyes - walking away like the coward that I was.

Later the servants told me that Quatre had flung their hands away when they attempted to lead him by his hand back to the car. He walked with his head held high, dignified, and proud, like you had done, when you found out that the child you were carrying was a boy.

He had even inherited your pride. I knew too well - he must had longed for my smile as much as I had longed for yours, but he would not suck up a smile meant for another person. You would refuse to be a subsitute too, wouldn't you?

He had locked himself in his room, but I could hear the deliberately stifled sobs from within.

I am a rotten man, my Quaterina. Forgive me. Oh please, do forgive me! For I am a despairing man!

I hated you and Quatre from the very bottom of my heart, you two did torture me so. Yet I loved both of you with all the volume of the sea - and more! It hurts - even breathing hurts sometimes - love is as destructive as can be.

I'm sorry.

Please allow me to burn another letter that you could never read - never again, I suppose, never again you could read anything. But when had that stopped me from writting to you?

forever yours, and guilty,  
Sa'id (4)

* * *

(1) - In the Endless Waltz novel, the Winner family is against gentically modifying women so that they can give birth naturally due to religious resons. Quatre's father said that people should not come to live in space in the first place if they are afraid of defying God, and he said that God will allow his actions of genetically modifying his daughters if he respected life. It is not stated whether Quatre's father became an atheist, or if the Winner family believed in a Christian or Islamic God.

(2) - Prometheus stole fire for human in Greek mythology. He was punished by Zeus to be chained to Mount Caucasus where an eagle will pick at his liver everyday.

(3) - the mortality rates are from Endless Waltz novel, so they official. Yes, it wasn't a very smart move for Quaterina to make.

(4) - In the series novel Quatre's father does have a given name. In romaji it will spell "za-ii-do" I'm guessing that it is the Arabian name sa'id.

I'm sorry if this turned out to be wuthering Heights-ish. Next chapter will probably be a new story on Q's episode zero. (finally, some action!)


	4. Holy Thursday Part 1

'_Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,  
The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green,  
Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,  
Till into the high dome of Paul⧳ they like Thames' waters flow._

_O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!  
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.  
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,  
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands._

-Holy Thursday from "Songs of Innocence" by William Blake

* * *

He called me Quaterina when he smiled at me.

That was three years ago. But it will take a lifetime to forget that smile.

Sometimes I direct my hatred towards the unknown Quaterina. Who is she? More importantly, who am I, as Quatre Raberba Winner? Nothing but a mere collection of organic materials with hand-picked genes to make me resemble someone else - a long lost love perhaps - I am just an artificial tool. No wonder I never fit in anywhere and am always the odd one out. No wonder random strangers will throw me a despising look like one will to a cockroach.

No wonder he avoids me like the plague even when he is my father.

I just want a genuine smile and a simple 'I love you' from him. I guess that's too much to ask for when you are something less than a cockroach.

So I childishly ran away from home, hopping that he will at least be bothered enough to take the day off to look for me.

And here I am, sitting on a private shuttle bound for Earth, with the bodyguard that I have bribed with my savings.(1) I have carefully saved my money in a private account these years, faking extravagance while in fact stashing the cash secretly away, so that I will not need his permission to use them. That, and I will now be able to support myself for a while even when he cut off my money supply after I run away from home.

Earth - a boring planet that happens to naturally produce primordial mould that gradually evolved into _Homo sapiens_. Humans are too insatiable for their own good - it is not enough for them to have conquered their planet - they must try to colonize outer space and the universe itself. If they have never left Earth, then there will not be a need for test-tube babies, and tools like me need not be created to serve.

But I am human too, I guess, sort of. Or I will not have left my colony to try and satisfy my insatiable desire for his attention.

"Master Quatre!"

The co-pilot rushes in from the cockpit with urgency written all over his face. What now?

"Master Quatre! Some people who called themselves the Maganacs are forcing us to fly to MO-III! It seems like they're trying to hijack our shuttle!"

Oh. So? Isn't he supposed to be the one who figures these things out for me?

I ignore him and turn my head away.

"What should we do now? Master Quatre?" He presses on.

"What's that got to do with me?" I return lazily as I glanced at him coldly.

He is visibly taken aback by my answer. What does he expect me to do - cry and throw a tantrum? I've long outgrown that. So we are hijacked, fine. It isn't like I am the one piloting the shuttle and have to recalculate the coordinates. Well, one thing is for certain though, this flight is going to take longer than expected. I may as well...

"I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we are there."

OoOoOoOo

The resource satellite MO-III is bustling with activity when I have gotten off the shuttle. My kidnappers seem to be a group of big burly men who are occupied in whatever the commotion is. I easily identified their source of commands - their leader is a man whom the others called Rashid.

"I am Quatre Raberba Winner." It is good manners to introduce yourself before you talk to strangers. After years of lessons on etiquette, some habits are hard to break.

"We will not tell you our names, kid!"

He called me 'kid' when I took all that trouble to identify myself? It isn't like I don't know their names already anyway. The leader is Rashid, that moustache guy who just spoke is Auda and the sunglass man is Abdul - these are not difficult to catch from their conversations.

I ignore him and choose to question their leader instead - he looks more intelligent.

"What are you going to do with us?"

Rashid's gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, then back up again. I shift uncomfortably under his visual examination and the bit of contempt rolling off him in suppressed waves. His frown says that he isn't impressed by what he sees.

"You're our hostage," his voice boomed. "We will let you go when we leave here safely."

I almost laughed out loud at his plan - he sounds so grim and serious with such a ridiculous suggestion. If I had worth as a hostage they wouldn't have caught me so easily - simple logic says. You don't threaten someone with the potential death of a pawn at the beginning of the game.

"I'm sorry," I laughed. "But I'm afraid that I have not much worth as a hostage...Nobody loves me, and I don't love anybody..."

"And they can make as many of me as they want." My laughter turned sour and died down as I finished. He can make as many Quatres as he wants, but a thousand Quatres can still never replace one Quaterina.

The communication video at the end of the room suddenly beeps and comes to life. My father's unfamiliar face appears on it. There is a pang in my heart when I notice that he looks older and more...earth weary...than the last time I saw him, but I quickly pushed the pain away, mentally scolding myself for caring too much about someone who does not care.

That hairy-bear Rashid negotiates with him, asking for Winner shuttles in return for my safety. When my father agrees and requests to speak with me, a paint-palette of emotions stained my heart.

Am I glad? Maybe I am feeling guilty for causing him trouble when he is already so busy. Then there is doubt on his reasons for agreeing to that condition. Plus anger that burns just at the sight of him...and longing...together with sadness. Tears threatened to flow, so I overwhelm everything with a dash of pitch-black defiance.

"What do you want?"

"Quatre, why are you there?"

Good question. Why am I here?

"Are you shocked that one of your tools ran away on its own?" I tilted my head and flashed him a nasty smile.

"You are still speaking like that!" I like it when his face contorts with rage whenever he quarrels with me. It proves that I still mean something to him, either as Quatre or Quatrerina.

"I'll prove to you that even people like me have thoughts, and can act independently!"  
_I'll prove to you that I have a mind of my own. I am Quatre, and not your Quaterina!_

I am taken completely by surprise when Rashid suddenly whirls me around and slaps me across my cheek - hard. Even though it is forceful enough to fling me to the floor, I am more surprised than hurt by that slap. I must be too focused on my father to sense Rashid's intentions.

Anger flares up inside me when I realize that he have interrupted the conversation between me and my father. Holding my flaming cheek, I demand, "What did you do that for?!"

"Have more pride in yourself."

Pride? But I am fighting for my pride as Quatre! And what do they know about being an artificially created tool? They have no right to judge me!

"We are test-tube babies too."

My mouth is still open in the formation of a retort, but his confession effectively chases anything I have on my mind. Test-tube babies? The Maganacs?

The Maganacs continue with their work and ignore me like I am too insignificantly to notice. None glances towards my way. So I sit dumbly on the floor, not knowing what to say or do.

tbc...

* * *

1 - This is not official material. Read what really happened in Quatre's Episode Zero from my Quatre fansite. It can be found in the website link at my profile page.

Thank you for all your kind reveiws! I can only reply to you personally if you leave your email address!


	5. Holy Thursday Part 2

_Is that trembling cry a song?  
Can it be a song of joy?  
And so many children poor?  
It is a land of poverty! _

And their sun does never shine,  
And their fields are bleak and bare,  
And their ways are filled with thorns,  
It is eternal winter there

-Holy Thursday from "Songs of Experience" by William Blake

* * *

My bodyguards tell me that the Maganacs are helping the forced labor kept here by the Earth Alliance to return to Earth. 

I am ashamed, and angry with the anger of small animals - being small, and being animal - so helpless and different when facing the world. But I want to help. My family has been telling me about the evil deeds done by the Earth Alliance since I was very young, and every colonist still mourns the assassination of Heero Yuy by their hands.

As I hide in a corner to try and gather enough courage and get pass my emotional barrier to act and face Rashid again, a stranger comes to sit beside me. He is a short, chubby man, with receding black hair and a thin moustache that points upwards at both ends. My curiosity must have shown on my face, for he immediately raises his hands to show that he means no harm, and introduces himself as 'Instructor H', one of the forced labour in here.

"You are a lucky child - so lucky in fact that you didn't realise it yourself. Some kids that I know have been soldiers all their lives, participating in this war and soiling their hands with blood as soon as they have learned to walk. You? Living a life of luxury and still running away from home."

I flinch at his introductory harsh statement. I am... too lucky? And yet I know instinctively that I have no right to disagree with his declaration. I never know how vast and how complicated the world beyond my education is.

"You take yourself and your problems too seriously. Aren't you ashamed to sulk over your petty problems when the world is on the verge of war, and colonists like yourself are being trampled and treated like slaves by the Alliance?"

"...I didn't realise...I am sorry." I stammer, almost in fear, when such sharp accusations are suddenly thrown towards me, one after one. I fidget nervously as Instructor H's eyes bear down upon me.

"I don't suppose you've heard of Heero Yuy then? He gave his life for the welfare of the colonists and that's why he is still so respected by every one of us to this day... especially for those who know him in person."

"You know Heero Yuy? Wow...I mean..."

He raises his hand and motions for me to keep silent.

"Dont expect to get anything just by sulking and waiting. If you want to be of some worth, you have to reach out and help those in need. Heero Yuy gave his life to gain others' respect. What have you given in return of the self-worth you demand?"

I am sure that my cheeks are flushing red by this point, when I lower my head in shame.

"The Maganacs... they are strange people."

"Huh?"

"We didn't ask for help, but they come by themselves. They probably want to do what they can for all the miserable people in this era."

"...Why are they doing this?"

"They say that it's because of pride."

"Pride...Are they really all test-tube babies?"

"Yes, that's why they call themselves the Maganacs. That means 'family'."

"..."

_Family..._

"They are kind people...just like you."

Instructor H stands up abruptly, then turns to look at the dark, unlighted corridor at the right, finally narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then he looks at me again with a strange expression that is almost apologetic, before he walks away.

He called me kind just now. Am I? All I know is that I now desperately want to do something like the Maganacs have done. It is a feeling of euphoria when I know that he is right, and I can be of worth if I can be less of a selfish brat and do more to help. I can't help but start grinning in a silly way and full of inexpressible happiness, like a sinner bathed in long awaited absolution.

At that moment something brushes pass my empathetic awareness. Following my instinct, I move closer to the right, and peer into the dark corridor that Instructor H has stared into moments ago. I can barely make out the outline of a human form in the dark.

"This is base. Where are the Maganacs?"

"This is Iscariot. We are on MO-III."

A radio transmitter? The figure who identifies himself as Iscariot discloses the current coordinates of MO-III through the transmitter.

Wait, they are asking for the location of the Maganacs. The Maganacs are resistant fighters wanted by the Earth Alliance. This person is selling out the Maganacs to the Alliance army!

My eyes are adjusted to the dark by now, and I can see the distinctive red fez on his head that tells of his identity as one of the Maganacs. A traitor.

I frown. While Rashid is an exceptionally big man even by their standards, most of the Maganacs have strong builds too. I probably only reach this man's shoulders - to try and physically bring him down myself will be suicide... not to mention the fact that he may be armed.

Calling for assistance is not really feasible - it will take too long, and I didn't exactly leave a good impression for the Maganacs. My words are not believable if I do not have the transmitter as proof. That leaves me two options - to ignore what I just saw, or to use my empathy to control him temporary. I'm not sure if I'll able to get a hold of him for that long with my abilities - it will take every bit of my concentration.

_If you want to be of some worth, you have to reach out and help those in need._

Gritting me teeth as a show of determination, I start to wallow in my shamefulness and guilt, projecting those feelings to Iscariot.

As the effects begin to show, he suddenly flung the transmitter he is holding against the wall with an animalistic snarl. That is my cue. Furrowing my brow in concentration, I try to keep up an innocent face while continuing to project the necessary feelings, before I walk up to him.

"Aren't you ashamed? To be a traitor, to sell out your brothers?"

He looked up with a tortured expression. Bingo.

I bend down to pick up the abandoned transmitter.

"You know, if you find me some rope, I can help tie you up and bring you to Rashid. He'll surely forgive you if are truly regretful of your actions."

He stares at me, then nods his head once firmly, before going down the corridor and through one of the doors. A storeroom, I presume. By this time, I am already sweating profusely from my efforts in maintaining my hold on him.

OoOoOoOo

He leads the way, hands tied behind his back, with me holding the end of his rope behind. When we finally arrive in the control room where most of the Maganacs are gathered, I can't help but let go of a breath that I don't know I am holding. The short trip has been extremely exhausting for me.

I hold up the radio transmitter for Rashid to see. He understands the situation instantly.

The man called Auda rushes forward to slap him. Some confusion follows, but I cannot manage to catch everything that transpires among the Maganacs due to the throbbing headache which I am having.

"I'm not playing philanthropists with you guys!"

That is from Yuda the traitor. My hold on him must be weakening enough for him to say something so unrepentant. I know that I am no boy scout and knot tying is not in my syllabus, so it is time to tell the Maganacs to tie him properly...

"Thanks."

I look up to see Rashid standing in front, delivering unexpected gratitude to me. I am happy - really happy to hear that from him - yet I know I do not deserve what he is giving.

"It's nothing - I only did that for myself." I reply truthfully.

At that moment Yuda break free of his bounds and dashed towards Auda.

_Shit! _I mentally curse as I realize that the happiness I felt must have effective chased away any feelings of guilt that I am projecting. Still connected to Yuda by remaining strands of emotions, I paled at his intentions.

"Look out!" I shout, already dashing towards Rashid as Yuda reach ou to grab Auda's pistol.

The gunshots ring out as I am blindly pushing Rashid away.

At once, pain flares in my right shoulder, and I know I am shot. My left hand flies up to grab my shoulder automatically - it feels wet and squashy - digustingly warm. The lood is triking against the pale skin of my hand.

Rashid falls back into a sitting position. Horror creeps throughout my body as I stare wide-eyed at the red diffusing across his shirt in his chest.

I whip my head towards the source of more gunshots - just in time to see a fallen Yuda - with blood oozing from a bullet hole between his eyes.

I want to scream. This is the first death that I have ever witnessed, and it is more brutal and terrifying than anything I have ever seen.

_I played a part in this. I brought him here to face the wrath of his betrayed brothers._

The Maganacs surrounds their fallen captain in concern. Rashid bellows for them to ignore him and to prepare for battle. The Earth Alliance Army is fast arriving.

_It is my fault._

_Because of my lost in concentration, Yuda was dead and Rashid is shot. If I had kept my hold on him long enough for them to tie him up, none of this would have happened._

Auda interrupts my morbid thoughts when he places a hand on my head and asks if my shoulder is okay. He must have felt my fear - I am trembling like a leaf.

"I'm okay...your captain is more important...save him first..."

Surprisingly, my voice is steady and calm, with an air of detachment. Auda stared at me in awe.

The Maganacs move in a blur. Some are rushing Rashid to the first-aid station, most of them are heading for the hanger to prepare for the coming battle. Auda stays by my side and makes sure that my wounds are tended too. I think he is feeling guilty too, after all, the bullet that grazed me came from his gun.

When Auda is wrapping my wound with bandages to stop the blood, I think I see Instructor H among the blur of activity, grinning at me strangely. When I turn to look again, he is gone.


	6. Nurse's Song

_When the voices of children are heard on the green,  
__And whisperings are in the dale,  
__The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,  
__My face turns green and pale._

_Then come home, my children,  
the sun is gone down,  
__And the dews of night arise;  
__Your spring and your day are wasted in play,  
__And your winter and night in disguise._

-Nurse's Song from "Songs of Experience" by William Blake

* * *

Quatre carefully refrained from answering yes or no when Abdul asked him whether he knew how to pilot a MS, choosing instead to reply with a confident exclamation of "Leave it to me!" MS piloting was of course covered by the extensive syllabus required of the Winner heir, but Mobile Suits with weapons attached would definitely be a new experience for Quatre, with his pacifist father. 

Entering the cockpit he felt calm. Paradoxically his heartbeat rang loud with a defined rhythm in his ears - each "thump!" "thump!" "thump!" echoed in his head firmly. Despite that he felt calm, as he clutched Rashid's goggles towards his chest. The token of trust gave him immense fortitude great enough to face anything.

For the first time in his life, there are people depending on him. That knowledge alone made him realized that he would not utter even a sigh of regret if he die protecting those who entrusted their lives in his hands.

Even if it meant that he would hurt others, even if he had to soil his hands with blood of fellow humans... He swore to himself that nobody standing behind him, under the protection of his spread arms, would die as long as he lived.

Scanning through the various controls in the cockpit quickly, Quatre commanded the brown giant to move in lead of his Maganacs comrades.

* * *

A hundred Leos floated before the Maganacs, formidable and threatening. Auda's voice sounded raspy through the com link, but his words were clear. 

'Kid, don't be too harsh on yourself..."

There was no turning back since the moment he sat in this MS... no... since the moment he brought Yuda to Rashid. So it seemed natural for Quatre to reply, "It's no use telling me that now."

He had the captain's goggles and the captain's responsibility. Nothing else was of consequence - he just had to fulfil his duty. With his mind focused and beam rifle withdrawn, Quatre's MS flew towards the enemy cluster in effort to round the Leos up.

"Team 1 fire your canons towards the central enemy cluster!"  
"Team 2 spread out and cover Team 1!"  
"Team 3 clear out our retreat route!"

Quatre didn't think. He was calculating constantly, but he _didn'__t think_. Strategies came to him instinctively; tactics were a part of him. It was almost a semi-conscious state, and sometimes Quatre felt like he was watching the battle from a detached place in bird's eye view, and each individual suit was a moving dot on a map pinned in front of him. He was an astute observer, almost a born tactician.

Yet physical fighting was another matter - it required him to be there, right down to the most minute movement of his little finger or the exact amount of pressure to exert on his controls. He had to be equidistant from his body and his mind. Quatre jerked his hand to the right to dodge a spray of bullets, and immediately fired a shot on the oil tank of a Leo closing in on Auda's back.

It exploded. Quatre returned to his calculations while pulling out his beam sabre. With another Leo down, it was now 57 Leos versus 39 Maganacs. The Leo squad was starting to move away from MO-III, so the retreat route of the forced labour was safely secured and less of a concern. He determined that it was the right moment for more offensive moves.

"Mr. Auda, please lead a surprise attack team to the right wing! I would chase the enemies there!"

The Maganacs had started to follow his orders without hesitation after seeing how effective his deployment was. Trust and brotherhood was quick to build in life and death situations. It helped of course, that Quatre had some inherent qualities that made him an easy person to trust, even if he was only thirteen and the Maganacs are well in their twenties, even if it was life itself that they were entrusting him with.

"Understood!" Auda's reply sounded enthusiastic from the adrenaline rush of the battle. "However, please stop calling me 'Mr.', you are our captain now!"

Quatre smiled and nodded in acceptance of his approved status through the visual link. They were calling him captain... it was implied that they expected him to bear the responsibility that came with the title in exchange for the trust they honoured him with.

"I'm going!" Having said that, he rushed into the Leo squad.

Abdul was stunned seeing this. "That kid was insane!"  
Ahmed nodded his head in agreement.  
"Yeah, and he was wounded too..."  
"Right -This is what a real fighter should be!"

The Leos, seeing their opponent's fearless captain rising towards them from the left with his twin sabres ablaze, had no doubts that the next wave of attack would follow closely behind. The group fled to the right only to find in their horror that the main force of the Maganac, led by Auda, was waiting for them there. The co-operated strike proved surprisingly effective and the ambush knocked out more than half of the remaining Leos.

The Maganacs could see that they now had an advantage in number. But before they could celebrate with cheers and roars, Rashid interrupted with another piece of good news - the last shuttle had taken flight, the Maganacs can now retreat.

Quatre acknowledged the message and ordered everyone else to retreat. He could take care of the rest of the Leos. As long as all his people could all return safely to their homeland Earth...

"But there are still more than twenty Leos!"

The Maganacs chorused their objections at their captain's suicidal order. Even Rashid appeared on Quatre's screen.

"Enough, you have helped us a lot already..."

Sorely disappointed and almost angered by Rashid's words, Quatre cried out his question aggressively: "Do you still not accept me as one of the Maganacs?"

Rashid had said 'us' and that 'us' excluded him. Was he only a busybody kid who wormed his way into their business? He would never be part of them...

However, Rashid's immediate answer was not the negative 'no' that he was expecting.

"Of course we do! That's why you have to come to Earth with us...There are mountains, oceans, deserts...and a beautiful sky where everyone can stay freely in."

_Don'__t die._

He felt it then, the warmth that diffused from his heart. Rashid was telling him not to die. All the Maganacs were telling him to live on. The message was suddenly clear - they cared. He had become someone important to them instead of just a 'kid' that they happened to meet in MO-III.

Quatre closed his eyes and basked in that moment of serenity. He had never seen mountains, oceans or deserts. He had never felt such acceptance and love radiating around him... for him!

"How beautiful...I want to go."  
"Even though I don't know how many years it would take, but I will definitely go to Earth and find you! Before that, I'll try hard to make myself a little stronger!"

That said, he piloted his MS into the enemies' troops in full speed.

- I'm not running away to Earth...I'm going there to find myself -

* * *

Quatre was sore all over when he finally reached home, and his wounded shoulder hurt so much that he couldn't lift his arm. But there was a new light in his eyes - a fire that shone of dignity and burned with pride. 

Sa'id Winner saw that fire in the eyes which were bluer than turquoise and clearer than limpid water. The eyes of his son were the exact replica of the eyes of his wife, so much so that he was suddenly afraid of the strength and determination in them.

His greatest fear was for his son to leave him like his wife did.

He had meant to hug him. He had meant to soothe his wounds and comfort his still shaking body. Yet the sudden fear overwhelmed him and made him stood rooted at the spot, five steps away from his son. Before he knew it, he had blurted out what the cruelest words that he could think of, in a desperate attempt to deter his son from the path he was going to take.

"Did you enjoy killing all those people? Quatre, the Winner family had advocated peace for generations. You are disinheriting yourself from your family name."

To his horror the fire in his eyes flared. Quatre talked back to his father for the first time in his thirteen years, and it marked the start of a series of unending arguments between father and son for the following two years.

"I did what had to be done. Somebody had to stand up and fight. Is this oppression the peace that our forefathers longed for?"

Even Sa'id Winner himself could not explain what actually happened. One moment he was scolding his son and at the next, tears just overflowed from his eyes and slid down his face. It had hit home then, for he knew, his son would no longer be his son, but instead be the son of Quaterina Winner - a continuation of the name, the appearance, the pride and strength of the woman that he had loved and lost. He had failed to be a father.

The sight of his father tears hit Quatre harder than any physical blows could hit. He hesitated to apologize when he knew he did nothing wrong. In the end he couldn't utter anything past the lump in his throat as he watched his father returned to his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

In his suppressed frustrations and sorrow the kid in Quatre returned and took over, so he imitated what he thought adults would do when they felt like he felt, and walked over to the bar to pour himself a glass of rum.

The first sip was a shock. First there was a rich-aroma sort of taste, then there was a bitter-sour taste residing in the middle of his tongue, making him cringe and quickly swallowing the mouthful. He suppressed that cringe outwardly, of course, he didn't want to look unmanly with his first glass of rum, even if nobody was watching. The strong alcoholic taste kind of restricts the breathing pathway in his nose, and it wasn't nice at all. He ended up gulping the whole glass down while holding his breath.

In five minutes he grew increasingly inebriated, but was still lucid enough to observe his surroundings. His face and torso was felt flaming hot, and before the half hour was up he was kneeling beside the toilet and emptying the contents in his stomach, heaving heavily as his head cleared.

From that day on memories of his father's hurt and the residue smell of gunpower on his Mobile Suit would overpower him every time he consumed alcohol. He vomited every time, so he gave up trying eventually.

Two years later in AC 195, even though Quatre had promised himself that he would not run away to Earth, he hadn't the courage to tell his father about his leaving face-to-face. He left a note and fled.

_War brings sorrow...  
__But we must fight to  
__Protect our loved ones  
__from that sorrow..._

He had ran away from his father once again.

It was only after his father's death that he realised the deepest sorrow was neither brought by war nor the failure to protect loved ones. It was not death and not betrayal. For the deepest sorrow was regret - of things that could have been but would never be; of love that should have been expressed but never was; of tears that should have been shed but was masked by rage.

It was only after his father's death that Quatre felt his constant presence haunting him.

* * *

A/N:

Phew... finally! Sorry for the delay. This is supposed to be the end...but if inspiration struck and pre-canon! Quatre talks to me again, I might add more chapters to this.


End file.
